


Through the Yellow Haze of Memory

by okapi



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Confessions, Domestic, Exhibitionism, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Sherlock Holmes, Reminiscing, Turkish Bath, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:02:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25311310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: Holmes confesses that Barts was not the first time he saw Watson.
Relationships: John Watson/Original Male Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 70
Collections: Season of Kink, Sunshine Challenge, Watson's Woes JWP Collection: 2020





	Through the Yellow Haze of Memory

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the DW Watson's Woes July Writing Prompt #9 [Basic Chemistry: Describe an event in the early days of Holmes and Watson] and the DW Sunshine Challenge prompt 3: Yellow and my DW Inspiring Tables prompt 13. Eventually and my DW 2020 Season of Kink bingo card square N-3 'Exhibitionism/exposure.'

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lie, Holmes. You definitely had something in mind when you implied that I was given to indiscreet displays of affection in public.”

Watson’s words were a solemn reminder that when setting a trap, there’s always the risk of getting ensnared oneself. I had, for two nights running, been intent on distracting Watson from his obsession with the disorderly state of the sitting room.The previous night I had suggested a concert, which, in addition to being highly enjoyable, had worked like a charm in terms of making Watson forget his domestic obsession.

When, after dinner, Watson had once again begun to regard my piles of papers and index books and old journals in an exasperated manner, I set out to drawn from the same well, that is, to engage him in a discussion of the previous evening’s performance.

He’d made a quip about my placing my hand upon his at a particularly poignant moment, and I’d retorted something to the effect that in terms of gross public displays, we were birds of feather.

Now those feathers, his and mine, were definitely ruffled.

My first thought was to dismiss the whole line of conversation, but then I reconsidered.

My aim was distraction, and I had a good one, one that had been lying sleeping for fifteen years.

“The first time I saw you, Watson, was not at Barts laboratory.”

Mission accomplished!

Watson had definitely forgotten about the mess!

“You astonish me, Holmes! You have never mentioned it. Why?”

“It didn’t seem proper. Perhaps it would be better if you read a first-hand account.”

I did not even have to stand to reach the stack of old journals. I took the third from the top and opened it and leafed through its singed pages until I found the entry.

“You might want to pour yourself a drink, Watson.”

Stubbornness flashed like lightening on those handsome features but was gone just as quickly. He poured himself a drink, settled himself comfortably into his armchair, and took the journal.

* * *

**_22 Jan 1881_ **

_Tracked PL to Turkish bath on Edgware Rd. where he spent several hours. Nothing noted related to my investigation. A record of personal observations must wait until morning as more complaints about experiments conducted in my room have led to another set of heated words with the landlord. Finding more suitable lodgings is priority. My head aches. I must rest._

**_23 Jan 1881_ **

_Last night at the bath._

_It was through a perfumed yellow haze that I spied PL. It had been a delicate matter continuing my surveillance of him from the more public areas of the bath to the more secluded chambers, but I followed his lead and copied a few of his mannerisms towards staff (including the bestowing of gratuities I could ill afford to bestow) and thus, I was eventually admitted to the inner sanctum._

_I kept my distance without relaxing my vigilance. PL. gave himself away, I thought, turning his head, slowly, like a bird of prey looking for a hapless mouse. He is a predator of the first order. I wonder if he chose the establishment for simple diversion or whetting of his darker appetite._

_A party of four young men arrived. They were boisterous and cheerful and obviously well into their cups. After listening to their banter, I concluded that they were not long-standing friends but rather an impromptu band which had sprung up from the commonality of all having had considerable luck at a nearby gambling hall._

_PL struck up a conversation with one of them. I listened. Comments were exchange about the sport of rugby. I tucked away the fact that PL was knowledgeable and conversant on the topic for future reference. One of the four lads had already broken away from the crowd with a companion, but PL, though clearly interested in the second man, was not heard to make any similar suggestion to him._

_They remained where they were, PL. sitting on the edge of bench while the object of his interest, a few feet away, sat with his legs extended on the bench and his back against the pale tile._

_Description of PL’s companion. Hair, brown, moustache [I was later to check the registry and learn his surname was Watson, first initial J]. Medium-sized. Strongly built. Square jaw. Thick neck. Lath thin. Nut brown Military bearing. Nasty scar on the left shoulder. Handsome, but bears signs of recent and serious illness._

_He was not indifferent to PL’s attention. They were chatting amicably when an attendant arrived and made some adjustments to the heating apparatus._

_There was an amendment to the room’s fragrance as well as a straightforward bolstering of steam and heat. The air gained a note of oriental sandalwood, which was not unpleasant in the least. The attendant left, and a decided change of atmosphere pervaded the space. Expression of interest and admiration became more frank, and the soft moans of those who were already in the throes of pleasuring were no longer stifled._

_I politely declined two offers, firmly declaring myself to be exclusively in the voyeur category, and I did watch two couplings, the one I was pretending to watch and other, which I was watching. Intently._

_JW drew off his towel with an uninhibited flourish, and PL bent his head. I alternated between watching JW’s expression and PL technique. JW’s expression was one of bliss. PL was obviously skilled with his tongue and mouth. PL was also seemingly devoid of gag reflex. When PL pulled off to whisper some bawdiness which I could not catch, I saw JW’s member. Not unusually long but thick of girth, like an oak springing out of a nest of damp brown curls._

_PL was demonstrating some trick of suckling just the prickhead, and JW laughed and put his hand, his right hand, shoving PL’s mouth back down on his shaft. I actually read on JW’s lips the phrase, ‘stop[ playing and suck, you fiend.’_

_PL is a fiend, of course, but I doubted JW was aware of just how much._

_I was not the only one watching PL and JW. Many would pause in their amusements to stare for a few moments, and a few spectators were devoted to the task._

_JW made the most delicious groans, and I found myself growing hard. For a few moments, I entertained the fantasy of pushing PL out of the way and sucking JW myself, of battling for his favours like some animal. I may have taken myself in hand or I may have let another service me. I don’t honestly remember._

_My full attention was on JW’s pleasure. I wanted to lick the sweat from his body. I wanted to whisper naughty things in his ear and make him blush and laugh. I wanted to take that fine prick in my mouth, between my thighs, in my arse, wherever the good solider wanted to put it. I wanted to know what that moustache felt like on my skin. He would be a good lover, my dream mind told me, and I would be, well, an eager one._

_I breathed deeply, and the sandalwood perfume seemed to permeate my being. It was the scent of lust, pure lust. And the colour of lust was that thick yellow haze through which I was watching a handsome man coming to climax in the mouth of another._

_JW’s face. Oh, the rapture on those beautiful features when he found his release. It was clear he didn’t give a damn about who was watching. I admired his recklessness. His wantonness. He was clearly caught up in the moment. If he is the invalided soldier I believe him to be, no doubt he’s faced death more than once, and perhaps he is simply happy to be alive and taking his pleasures where he found them, the gambling hall; a warm, willing mouth; chance friends._

_Who could blame him? Not I._

_PL pulled off. JW made a gesture of reciprocation, but PL dismissed it. JW sat panting and smiling. When the heaves of his chest had quieted, he looked a different man. The euphoria of the night was fading fast. It almost seemed to slide from his countenance, like a mud in a deluge, leaving very bare bones beneath. He got to his feet, and with amiable exchanges to PL as well as to one of the party with whom he’d arrived [2 others were otherwise occupied], he made for the door._

_I stayed with PL long enough to see him fellate two more patrons and sod a third. None of the encounters stirred me like the one with JW. I made notes of his partners’ features and names in the margins of this in case they turn up as PL’s victims._

_After the last encounter, I realised it was later than I thought and (as it turns out, correctly) anticipated trouble with my landlord upon my return. My surveillance, thus, was forced to end. I don’t know if PL was choosing his next victim among the patrons of the Edgware establishment or if he were simply looking for a distraction or perhaps an unknowing benefactor. I suppose a careful reading of the day’s papers may tell me. I hope no harms has come to JW. I am prepared to continue my surveillance until I have sufficient evidence, evidence which will make the police sit up and take notice, but this domestic worry takes precedence._

* * *

I was at the desk when Watson finished reading.

“Holmes!”

I stood and moved to the window and I looked up on the night’s traffic and waited for a more substantive response.

“I remember the encounter because…”

“…you won at the tables,” I supplied.

“Yes. It was one of the few nights when I came out flush. Very flush. I went along with some chaps I met. Don’t remember their names at all. I have a vague memory of the fellow. Uh, PL doesn’t ring any bells, though.”

“He was living under a Danish name. Perl Ludquist.”

“And why were you tracking him?”

“Because he was a murderer. And I believed he was practicing and perfecting his technique in the rookery of St. Giles. The police were not interested in my theories. Or in his victims.”

“Dear God. I might have been one of his victims! No kith or kin. No one to know if I were missing. I might have disappeared with not a soul the wiser.”

“Only for a week.”

Watson smiled. “I noticed the date.” He shook his head, then he stopped and looked up abruptly. “Did you ever catch him, PL?”

“I had to give up the chase then, and by the time I had the time to resume my investigation, I discovered that PL had changed his name and gone abroad to France. Eventually, however, I caught him."

I beckoned Watson to the desk.

He rose, closed the distance between us, and sat in my chair.

I opened a drawer and placed two items in front of him. One was a letter of thanks signed by the French president and the other, a document conferring Order of the Legion of Honour.

“Holmes! Do you mean to tell me…?”

“The man who fellated you fifteen years ago in a Turkish bath in Edgware Road was none other Huret the Boulevard Assassin!”

“The deuce it was!” he breathed.

Silence fell. Then finally Watson said,

“I know why you didn’t tell me, Holmes.”

“Thank you for your understanding, Watson.”

“But I also know why you’re telling me now.” He looked pointedly at the sitting room.

“Damn!” I muttered.

“Holmes, I want you to spend the next hour contentiously putting some order to that wretched mess.”

“And then?”

“And then,” the love of my life grinned a wicked grin, “I will let you slip beneath this desk and, with the windows as such, with all of Baker Street watching, let you service me like an international assassin at a Turkish bath.”

“You see I was correct about your proclivities!”

“Perhaps they’ve been sleeping for many years but reading that account has certainly brought them out of the yellow haze of memory, if only briefly, but I was right about yours, too.”

“Tra-la-la!” I sang and set about my task.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> For the unfamiliar, Watson mentions Huret in "The Adventure of the Golden-Pince-Nez": _When I look at the three massive manuscript volumes which contain our work for the year 1894 I confess that it is very difficult for me, out of such a wealth of material, to select the cases which are most interesting in themselves and at the same time most conducive to a display of those peculiar powers for which my friend was famous...and arrest of Huret, the Boulevard assassin - an exploit which won for Holmes an autograph letter of thanks from the French President and the Order of the Legion of Honour."_


End file.
